


Better Than Fiction

by arysa13



Series: love's always on time [14]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:43:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6494122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke likes to read amateur erotica online, specifically the work of one author. Bellamy likes to write it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> This is my last fic in my two week challenge! Thanks so much to everyone who read and commented and gave me kudos, it means a lot. Hope you enjoy this last one. It was meant to be smut but I kind of wasn't really feeling the smut today so I'm sorry. xxxxx.

It isn’t a guilty pleasure, not really. Not when Clarke doesn’t feel guilty about it. No, she doesn’t go broadcasting that she frequently reads amateur erotica online, but if someone asked her she wouldn’t lie. True, she always uses an incognito tab, but that’s more because if someone happens to check her history she doesn’t want them to know exactly _what_ she’s reading. No one needs to know exactly what kinks she’s into. But still, the fact that she reads it isn’t what she feels guilty about.

The guilty part isn’t even really about the fact that she tends to always read stories by the same author, who often describes the main female character as a big busted blonde, which means Clarke finds it easy to imagine herself in each scenario. No, the guilty part is more about the way this author describes the male character. With dark eyes and hair, making it all too easy for Clarke to imagine Bellamy. Which would be a lot less weird if he wasn’t one of her best friends.

She doesn’t really mean to start thinking about him like that, but it just kind of happens. She just stumbles across a story by this writer and her first thought when she reads the characters description is that is sounds like Bellamy. And Bellamy’s hot, so it’s not hard to imagine him going down on her while she gets herself off. But then she keeps reading these stories by the same writer and she just keeps imagining Bellamy and now it’s kind of developed from a few lustful thoughts into a full blown nightmare of a crush. It’s a disaster really.

They hang out together a lot, being best friends, and often she catches herself thinking, _imagine if he knew what I was doing half an hour ago, thinking about him._ She’s very glad he can’t read her mind, as her inappropriate thoughts about him are all too frequent. She thinks she probably needs to get laid, but then she wonders, what’s the point if it’s not with Bellamy?

So she just continues to read her erotica and continues to pretend it’s Bellamy’s fingers between her legs instead of her own.

-

It’s something of a tradition for Clarke to hang out at Bellamy and Raven’s house on Friday nights, eating junk food and drinking while they watch the worst movies they can find on netflix.

“Clarke, you’ll never believe what I caught Bellamy doing last night,” Raven blurts out excitedly, two seconds after Bellamy has left the room to go the the bathroom.

“Do I want to know?” Clarke grimaces.

“He was writing porn,” Raven smirks.

“Writing porn?” Clarke raises an eyebrow. “Not watching it?”

“Nope, definitely writing it. He was on the couch and he didn’t hear me get up from my nap so I just kind of started reading over his shoulder until he noticed me and slammed his laptop shut,” Raven chuckles. “I’m guessing he didn’t want me to see.”

“How much did you read? Was it any good?” Clarke asks. She now considers herself to be something of an expert on erotica and now that she knows Bellamy has been writing some she knows she absolutely has to read it. It kind of turns her on to think of him writing smutty stories. She wonders if he writes from experience or fantasy. Either way, she’d definitely be getting an insight into what he’s into.

“It was pretty hot from the small amount I got to read,” Raven says, he eyes flashing mischievously. “We should hack into his laptop.”

“Come on, we can’t do that,” Clarke says, even though she really wants to. “We should just ask him if we can read it.”

“He’s too embarrassed about it,” Raven whines. “He’ll never show us.”

“Show you what exactly?” Bellamy says as he walks back into the room.

“Your collection of Bratz dolls,” Clarke grins.

“I don’t have a…” he trails off and narrows his eyes at Raven. “You told her didn’t you?” Raven shrugs sheepishly.

“He may have specifically told me not to tell you,” she admits.

“What, why?” Clarke pouts.

“Because I knew you’d be the person Raven would be most likely to tell,” Bellamy scowls, his face turning slightly red.

“So can we read it?” Clarke asks.

“Absolutely not,” Bellamy says definitely.

“Why not?” Clarke huffs, even though it’s pretty obvious why not. He’s not about to share his sexual fantasies with Raven, because there is absolutely every chance she’ll make fun of him. But Clarke thinks he might show just her.

“It’s private,” Bellamy mutters.

“You can just show me,” Clarke offers. “Don’t show Raven.”

“Hey!” Raven protests. “I’m the one who told you about it in the first place.”

“Which is how I know if I show you, you’ll just tell Raven all about it,” Bellamy rolls his eyes. “So. No.”

“I’m never going to be able to stop thinking about this,” Raven warns. Clarke can relate.

“That’s your problem,” Bellamy declares. “Now are we going to continue watching this trash or what?” Clarke and Raven drop the subject but they give each other a look that says _this isn’t over._

Clarke crashes at their place that night, since she’s slightly too drunk to drive home. She’s lying on the couch under a blanket in the dark, scrolling through her Facebook feed on her phone, when Bellamy walks into the living room, his laptop screen lighting up his face as he carries it towards her. Clarke sits up as Bellamy sits by her on the edge of the couch.

“You can read _one,_ ” he tells her, sitting the laptop on her knees.

“How many have you written?” Clarke asks incredulously.

“A lot,” Bellamy shrugs nonchalantly. “And I swear if you ever tell Raven anything you read I will never trust you again.”

“Noted,” Clarke nods and begins reading. She feels a little awkward reading Bellamy’s own erotica in front of him, and he seems to be a little uncomfortable too, but probably for entirely different reasons. His writing is _really_ good, and Clarke can’t stop her heart rate from picking up as she gets to the really good bit. It’s a pretty tame story by Clarke’s usual standards, but it’s still hot as hell. As she reads through it though, she realises the story and the writing style are eerily familiar, and yes, she’s pretty sure she’s read this before, though it may have been a couple of years ago now. She glances up at Bellamy, feeling her face grow hot.

“When did you write this?” she asks.

“Uh… a few years ago I guess. It was my first one,” he tells her. “That’s why it’s shit, if you were wondering.”

“No, it’s really good,” Clarke hurries to assure him. Which is not a lie, because if it was bad she would not have read every story he’s ever posted online. She can hardly believe the erotica author she gets herself off to every other night is none other than Bellamy. She doesn’t bother reading the end, can’t bring herself to, now that she knows. She hands the laptop back to Bellamy.

“Thanks for letting me reading it,” she says. He nods and heads back to his room. Clarke groans to herself, burying her face in her pillow. She hadn’t thought her crush on Bellamy could get any worse, but no, he had to go ahead and somehow be the author of every fantasy she’s had for the last two years. He’s even the one who made her realise she has an exhibitionism kink for fuck’s sake.

But, she realises, he doesn’t know any of this. _She_ , however, does know that everything she’s fantasised about, _he’s_ fantasised about too. She pulls out her phone again and goes to his author page. She clicks on his newest story, which she’s already read of course, but she reads it this time with an all new investment in the story and the characters. No wonder the main character reminded her of Bellamy. It _is_ Bellamy. And come to think of it, the main character’s lover… well, maybe it’s wishful thinking, but it kind of sounds like her? Which, she’s always imagined it to be her anyway, but now… is it possible that Bellamy’s been writing about her all this time?

The story he’d shown her tonight was written before they really knew each other, and the girl in that story was a brunette, she’s pretty sure. But as she flicks through all Bellamy’s most recent stories she realises the character is always blonde. Which, could mean anything really. But Clarke doesn’t really remember Bellamy ever really being interested in any blondes before.

Clarke dithers for a minute, wondering whether or not to confront him. If she’s wrong it’s going to be super embarrassing. But if she’s right it could turn out pretty good for both of them. She takes a deep breath and gets off the couch, padding quietly to Bellamy’s room, knocking on the door.

“Yeah?” he calls out, sounding a little confused.

“It’s Clarke, can I come in?” she asks hesitantly.

“Sure,” Bellamy responds, sounding equally as hesitant. Clarke pushes the door open to find Bellamy sitting up in bed, shirtless, his glasses on, his laptop on his knees. He’s clearly been writing. Clarke’s mouth goes dry at the sight of him. “What’s up?” he asks her.

“I, uh, have a confession to make,” she says, cringing already at what she’s about to say.

“Okay,” Bellamy waits. He’s not making this easy for her.

“I’d already read that story before,” she admits. “Online.” She looks at Bellamy, trying to gauge his reaction. He looks… worried.

“Oh,” he gulps. “Did you… read anything else I wrote?” he grimaces. Clarke nods shortly.

“Everything you posted,” she says. Bellamy looks positively horrified now.

“Fuck,” he swears.

“Is it…” Clarke starts, not sure how to phrase the question. “Were you writing about me?” Bellamy shuts his laptop then and gets out of bed, his hand over his face. Clarke does her best to keep her eyes off his bare chest and abs, not to mention his obviously hard cock in his boxers.

“Would you believe me if I said no?” Bellamy tries. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “You weren’t supposed to…” he cuts himself off with a groan.

“Ever see them?” Clarke guesses.

“Okay, that doesn’t make it any better, I realise that,” Bellamy says. “Shit. This is so awkward. I shouldn’t have written about you. I just… you’re all I think about,” he groans. “Nope, that’s worse.” Clarke can’t help but chuckle at him now, he’s so obviously struggling to make her believe he’s not some weirdo creep, but he seems to kind of believe that he is.

“Is this funny?” he asks her hopelessly.

“Pretty much,” Clarke grins.

“Okay, well I guess that’s better than you hating me. But this is still really embarrassing,” he screws up his nose.

“Bellamy,” Clarke shakes her head with a laugh. “I read all your stories. What do you think I was doing while I was reading them?”

“Well… uh, I… you,” Bellamy stammers, turning bright red.

“And who do you think I was thinking about?” Clarke raises an eyebrow. Bellamy shuts one eye like he can’t quite look at her directly.

“Raven?” he guesses.

“I was thinking of you, idiot,” Clarke smirks and Bellamy opens both his eyes.

“I wish you would have led with that,” he breathes before taking a step forward so he can grab her, bringing his mouth down over hers, making her lose her breath.

“What were you writing?” Clarke can’t help but ask, even though she kind of really wants to keep making out with him, but she’s really curious.

“Honestly?” Bellamy gives a chuckle. “It was pretty much something like this.”

“Me telling you I’ve read all your pornographic stories about me?” Clarke laughs disbelievingly.

“Just you coming in here and telling me how in you’re in love with me and that you desperately want me to fuck you,” Bellamy grins. Clarke raises an eyebrow at him.

“I haven’t said any of that,” she points out. “But I am. In love with you, that is.”

“That’s a relief because I was worried I just made this awkward again,” Bellamy says.

“And also I desperately want you to fuck me,” Clarke adds.

“Well, we can definitely arrange that,” Bellamy winks before kissing her again.

-

Bellamy’s stories get even better after that, and they both get to re-enact the ones he’s already written, but to be honest sometimes reality is better than fiction.


End file.
